


Over to Q

by insanelyinlovewithstamets (strangethingsareafootatthecirclegay)



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Data’s music recitals, Multi, Q is a bitch but we love him so much, Qcard Big Bang 2020, Some daforge because why not, because who can’t resist a skant, skants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27244558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangethingsareafootatthecirclegay/pseuds/insanelyinlovewithstamets
Summary: In which Q must adapt to his new life as a powerless mortal onboard theEnterprise
Relationships: Data & Q (Star Trek), Data/Geordi La Forge, Jean-Luc Picard/Q, William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84
Collections: Qcard Big Bang





	Over to Q

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoy it! As always, I've re-checked the grammar in this I don't know how many times, but I'm sure there are a few sneaky mistakes lurking in here somewhere so if you spot any let me know :)

They’d warned him. Oh, they’d warned him. He’d sat through lectures and scoldings about how he wasn’t behaving properly, but he’d always thought their threats were empty, their warnings half-hearted. Apparently he’d been wrong. 

Q had been mortal for three hours now, sitting in the brig whilst the crew of the Enterprise decided what to do with him. Clearly, no-one had quite figured that out yet, as he could practically feel their squabbling.

Q knew exactly what had been said over the last few hours- Riker would have fought against him remaining on the ship, as he always did; Worf would have agreed with Riker, of course, and have no doubt suggested some form of punishment that Q would despise and the Klingon would delight in; Data, Q's only official friend, would most likely have fought for his case, and possibly be backed by Troi, but the two of them would inevitably have been drowned out by the strong voice of Doctor Crusher, who'd never liked Q; La Forge would've argued that Q could be a valuable member of the crew, but would also have pointed out that Q was a pain in the ass. Thank you, La Forge. Very helpful. 

And Picard? The man Q knew and trusted above any other living being, mortal or otherwise? The man Q loved? He would've listened to the case each member of his crew put forward, and then hide his head in his hands or tug at his uniform and relay the facts- it _always_ seemed to be about the facts whenever it came to discussing Q -and the debate would start once again.

To summarise: Q was sure the crew had not come to a conclusion yet, and probably never would.

“Oh. You’re still here, then.” 

Q looked up to see Commander Riker standing on the other side of the force-field, Picard by his side. Q sighed.

He really wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation.

“We could keep him in the brig?” Riker suggested half-heartedly. “Or just dump him at the next starbase?”

Q sat up, determined to put a halt to Riker’s ridiculous train of thought. “I just told you I was cast out by my people and you want to do the same thing!?” He cried indignantly.

“That’s what you said last time,” Riker reminded him, “and then you came back, trumpets and all.”

“It’s been well-established that that was a test, William.”

“And this isn’t? We have several diplomatic delegations taking place on board over the next month or so, we’re on course to collect the Vulcan ambassador, the Ferengi are claiming they own half the neutral zone, and now this? You picked the worst possible time to show up, Q. And it’s not as if you can help in any way.”

“Oh, Riker," Q pouted, "I’m truly sorry if my recent exile is inconvenient to you.”

“Don’t try pulling the sympathy card with me, Q. I know what you’re capable of. We’ve all had enough of your egotism.”

“If your tiny brain can’t comprehend the simple tr-”

“Enough!” Picard, who had been silently watching the display for quite some time, raised a hand. “That’s quite enough, both of you. Q, how long do you think you’ll be requiring our assistance?”

“They’re not coming back for me, _mon capitaine_.” Q said softly. “Not this time. I’m going to stay human, you’ll be pleased to know. I’ll live, I’ll die, and no-one will remember me.” 

Riker snorted disbelievingly just as Jean-Luc said “I see.”

Picard hugged his arms to his chest and stood there frowning at the floor for a moment as the First Officer of the flagship of the United Federation of Planets and an ex-omnipotent entity made faces at each other in the background.

“It seems as if we’ll have to make permanent arrangements for Q.”

“I don’t have to stay in the brig?”

“No.”

Riker opened his mouth to object, but quickly shut it again, instead choosing to lean forward and type a few commands onto the screen beside his cell. The forcefield vanished, and Q took a cautious step forward.

“Q…” Picard took a deep breath, a pause that was filled with the preemptive regret of a question probably too personal to be asked. Q was dreading having to answer that question.

“What did I do this time?” Q finished.

“Yes.”

Q wasn’t sure if he could answer that question without sounding ridiculous. Jean-Luc made him feel weak in an exciting way, and it confused him. The Q weren’t big on emotions, and his feelings for Picard had been somewhat of a sore spot between himself and the other members of the continuum. He assumed that was why they’d banished him, but he couldn’t be sure. There was no ceremony this time, no court, no declaration of what was to be done with him. All he got this time was a tingling feeling in his now-human stomach and a strange sense of finality towards his days as a Q.

“I don’t know.” He said eventually.

“You don’t know.” Riker repeated.

Picard rubbed his forehead. He looked exhausted, and Q realised that maybe the continuum had delivered him there on purpose, to mess up the delegations, perhaps, or to make the First Officer so determined to save the ship from Q that he’d be distracted from doing his duties, to exhaust the Captain of the Enterprise and prove once and for all that the only thing he was good for was ruining the lives of the people he cared about. Well, he was determined that wasn’t going to happen. He was going to be good, and he was going to be quiet, and then the Q would restore his powers and he could go back to (very slowly) worming his way into Picard’s heart with his charming antics.

Yes.

It was decided, then.

He was going to be well-behaved.  
\---------------------------

Q tapped his fingers impatiently against his bedside table. He wouldn’t go out. He couldn’t go out. If he did he’d probably just end up messing everything up, like he always did. No. He was just going to sit there. Alone. Perhaps he’d wait until his faulty human body malfunctioned. They always seemed to be doing that, even Picard’s did from time-to-time. Q always stepped in to help out if it got too bad, of course. Only, this time... Q couldn’t bare to think about what would happen if Picard were to get injured, and lay back and shut his eyes instead. He tried to force his ridiculous shell of a body to fall asleep, but it refused.

Q sighed, and sat up again. He was starting to wish the Continuum had dropped him off at some starbase instead. Or, better yet, an inhabited planet where he’d be so far away from the Enterprise he couldn’t possibly harm anyone aboard it. If he was faraway he wouldn’t be able to protect Picard, though. Not that he could do anything if Picard was hurt…Q groaned. His thoughts had gone round in a circle without him even realising. If this was what solitude did to humans then he wasn’t sure whether he could keep it up for very long.  
\-------------------------------------------

Q apparently managed to steal a few hours of sleep, because when he woke up he felt a little more optimistic. He swung his legs out of bed, yawned, and realised immediately that something was very, very wrong. 

His limbs were uncomfortably heavy, so heavy in fact that his knees wouldn't support his own body properly. He swayed precariously for a few seconds before a strange, stabbing sensation ran from his ankles and all the way up his legs. 

In that moment, Q ignored every ground rule he’d laid down for himself the previous night in favour of getting to Medical before his entire body shut down. He managed to stagger to the door, though his feet felt as if they- well, he couldn’t feel his feet at all.

His door swished open, and Q turned on the person nearest to him.

“You _liar_!” He cried, pointing an accusing finger at a very worried looking Geordi La Forge.

“Q? Are you alright?”

Q tried to step forward, but his traitorous limbs failed him, and he had to clutch onto the wall for support. “Oh, you people just _love_ to kick me when I’m down, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about, Q?”

“I’ve been _drugged_!” Q wailed, his pathetic human legs trying to collapse from underneath him yet again. 

Geordi rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders to steady him. “What?”

“My stupid legs won’t work properly! I knew I couldn’t trust that Riker!” He growled. “Now they feel tingly!” He gestured to his feet. “They’re _tingly_ , La Forge!”

Geordi just stared at him.

“I’ve been drugged!” Q repeated, stamping one of his too-heavy feet.

“Dru-” Geordi snorted, his panic now apparently dissolving into amusement. “What on Nepenthe are you talking about? Q, you’ve got pins-and-needles.”

Q checked his legs over twice, but saw neither item. Perhaps they were so tiny that his ridiculous human eyes couldn’t ev-

“When you stay in a weird place for too long and then all the blood rushes back?” 

“Is it fatal?”

“ _Fatal_?" Geordi shook his head in disbelief. "Q, I get it about eight times a shift down in engineering.” 

“It hurts!”

“Hence the name,” Geordi grinned, “It’ll pass in a minute or two.” 

“Ah, yes, laugh it up,” Q said bitterly, “just laugh and laugh at the ex-omnipotent being with the lowest pain threshold this side of Jupiter.”

“I’m sorry, Q.”

“No, you’re not.” Q said stubbornly. “You don’t care about me at all.”

“Yes I do,” Geordi protested, “Q, you don’t really think that.”

“I don’t know what I think.”

“Would you like to come down to the holodeck with me? Captain Picard says you ought to learn the proper emergency procedures.”

Q pursed his lips, thinking La Forge's offer over. On the one hand, he'd promised himself that he'd stay inside to avoid any danger he might cause to the ship and her crew. On the other, surely he'd be more of a danger to the _Enterprise_ if an emergency _did_ arise and he wasn't sure of what to do? “If I must.” Q said eventually, effectively leaving the decision to La Forge by pretending to be disinterested. 

“You don’t have to do it today, Q.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do.”  
\--------------------------------

Q had been doing training exercises with Geordi for about half a shift now, and was not enjoying it. The head of engineering had shot down just about every idea he’d had, deeming them ‘unrealistic’ or ‘crazy’ or ‘literally impossible unless you want to blow up the whole of medical’.

“I just don’t understand why you don’t do it my way! It would be far easier, you know.”

“Q, I’m a human, okay? I can’t just magic the hull breach away. And,” he reminded gently, “neither can you.”

“Well, maybe humans should’ve evolved faster.” He remarked, fiddling with a piece of wire. “It’s not my fault you’re all so weak.”

“Damn, Q.” Geordi rubbed his face, his usually infinite supply of patience clearly wearing thin.

“I’ll leave.” Q suggested, picking up his PADD.

“You do that.” 

Q walked out of holodeck 3, his head held only slightly less high than usual, and sulked his way to the nearest turbolift.

“Mr. Q to Counselor Troi’s office.” The loudspeaker above his head announced. 

Q cringed. The fact that he wasn’t trusted with a combadge was embarrassing enough, but now that Riker had taken to giving him orders through a system that anyone on the ship could hear, no matter where they were? It was getting insulting now. He pulled a face vaguely in the direction of where the command had come from, and although there was no way (that he knew of, anyway) that the first officer could have seen it, it did make him feel slightly better.

“Could Mr. Q please report to the counselor's office.” Riker’s voice repeated over the speaker system. “Immediately.” It added after only a moment's hesitation.

“Deck-” Q frowned. “Wherever Deanna Troi is, computer.”

“Deanna Troi is currently located on deck twelve.”

“Deck twelve, then, please.” Q said, then scowled at his own politeness.

The doors opened smoothly, which annoyed Q for some reason. He practically stalked over to the Counselor's office, glaring at anyone who dared send him so much as a glance. Which was good, as Q had quickly realised that he could use a layer of anger to his advantage- it would mask whatever crap he was actually feeling from the counselor’s prying mind. 

“You're annoyed.” He murmured to himself, just as the automatic door swished. “You’re really, really annoyed.”

“You are hiding something.” Deanna said almost immediately. 

Well, so much for distracting her.

“How sensitive of you.” Q sniffed, pulling his best ‘I am extremely offended’ face.

“Is it something you wish to talk about?”

“No.”

“Q...I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Q lied, “that would be ridiculous.”

Deanna just looked at him.

“Fine.” Q dropped his emotional barriers (badly built as they were), and prepared for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

“You feel an intense love towards someone.” Deanna said evenly. 

Q slumped further in his seat, furrowing his eyebrows and staring down at his boots. “It’s disgusting.” 

“I know you don’t really believe that.”

“Then I must just be embarrassed,” he sneered, “how human of me.”

“Q,” Deanna said gently, reaching for his hand, “you don’t have to go into any detail, but perhaps if you talked about it, you’d find tha-”

“Oh, what use is this? Everyone knows anyway. They all think it’s hilarious. I’m doomed to love a mortal who’s never looked at me twice except to scold me for blowing up asteroids. How utterly pathetic.”

“I assume you’re referring to Captain Picard?”

“How _ever _did you guess?”__

____

____

“Have you decided whether or not you’re going to tell him?”

Q looked away, pretending to be suddenly very interested in Troi's ceiling. “He wouldn’t believe me.”

“Do you really think so little of yourself?”

“Do _you_ really think so highly of myself?” Q countered.

“Yes. I can’t begin to imagine how hard this is for you, Q. But I’m here, if you need to talk. As is Data. As are Geordi and Beverly. And as is Captain Picard.”

“No, you’re not. You have to say that.” Q stood, his face flushed. “Everyone on this ship hates me, and they have good reason to. Even _I_ hate me.”

Q left Troi’s office sadder and grumpier and more confused than he'd been when he arrived, and decided to go in search of the only crewmember on the entire ship who actually seemed to understand human emotions, a pair of hesitant footsteps following him all the while.

“You can stop following me.” Q snapped, turning on what he assumed was Deanna.

“I thought you may be in distress.” Data said quietly.

Q sighed, suddenly feeling drained. “Sorry, Data, I thought you were someone else. I’m having trouble keeping up with all these emotions.”

The android tilted his head. “Do you wish to come back to my quarters?” 

“Yes please.”

Data nodded and led him into the turbolift and down several corridors that looked exactly the same before stopping outside an unmarked door. It swished open, and Q followed Data inside.

As soon as Q stepped through the door, something furry left at him with a shriek. It tore at his jumpsuit, hissing and yowling all the while. Q tried to scramble under the bed to evade his attacker, but the animal was relentless. 

“Spot!” Data scolded. “Q is a friend. Treat him as such.”

The animal stalked off to slink around the android’s legs, some sort of battle-cry rumbling in its throat as it did so.

“This is my cat. Her name is Spot.” Data said calmly, as if the creature had not just tried to claw Q’s face off. “Spot has not yet taken a liking to Geordi either, so do not be offended. In fact, she seems to prefer Worf over most other members of the crew.”

“Hello.” Q bent down to Spot’s eye-level. “Aren’t you a funny thing?”

“Spot is rather amusing.” Data agreed. 

Q reached a hand out, and scratched the cat under her chin. “You’re not so mean, are you? I bet you’re secretly soft as- hey!” 

He pulled his hand away sharply. There was blood on his hand- his blood? He was _bleeding_. Q cradled his bleeding hand and tried very hard not to cry.

“Q? Are you in need of medical attention?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never had this stuff come out of me before. Don’t I just need to sleep?”

Data gently pushed Q towards the door, careful not to let Spot out as he did so. “I apologise for Spot’s behaviour.”

Q looked back down at the gashes on his hand, cringing at the strange red substance coming out of his body. Wasn’t that stuff supposed to keep him alive? How much would he have to lose for there to be no more Q, mortal or otherwise? He suddenly felt very ill. His head span, and he had to grab on to his friend’s shoulder support. Data held out his arm, and Q clung to it gratefully.

“Are we going to my quarters?”

“No, we are going to sickbay. You may require stitches.” Data said patiently.

“Stitches?” Q frowned.

“The use of a dermal regenerator is the more likely option.”

A nurse ran to his side as soon as they reached the sickbay door. “Seems like Spot made a new friend.” He grumbled. 

The man reached into the container beside him and pulled out a dermal regenerator. He passed it over the gashes, and Q watched with wide eyes as his skin stitched itself back together.

“There,” the man stepped back, “all done.”

“That was it?”

“Yes. Data, if that cat damages another crewmember I’m throwing her out of an airlock.”

Data nodded, yellow eyes wide. The nurse waved them away, and Q followed Data out of sickbay, still marveling at his repaired hand.

“I don’t really mind that she scratched me.” Q assured his friend. 

“Truly?”

“Let’s call it a ‘new experience’ and leave it at that, shall we?”

Data nodded gratefully (or he looked grateful, at least), and they walked in companionable silence until they reached a door identical to Data’s that Q presumed must lead to his own quarters.

“My quarters are a deck above yours. Would you prefer to sleep there or in your own quarters?”

“I think I’ll be alright on my own tonight. Thanks anyway, Data.”

“You are welcome to visit any time you wish. After all, I do not sleep.”

“Thank you, Data.”  
\------------------------------

“Good morning, Q.” Data nodded politely. “Are you prepared for your medical examination?”

Q shrugged. He wasn’t sure what the status quo of the human body was supposed to look like, but he wasn’t fainting constantly or anything so he assumed all was well. He’d now been on the Enterprise for just over two weeks, but was still getting angry looks sent his way whenever he dared go out in public. He’d wandered up to the bridge a few days ago and was almost shot (the phaser was on stun, but still. It was pretty worrying).

“I was informed your sugar intake was worryingly high last week. Are you still regularly consuming chocolate sundaes?”

“No.” Q lied.

“Lying to a doctor is never a good idea.”

Q jumped at the sound of Doctor Crusher’s voice, spinning on his heel and holding his hands out in a way that he hoped was threatening, but in actual fact made him look like a confused jellyfish. “Have you been following us?” Q asked incredulously.

“I had to make sure you weren’t thinking of skiving.” Crusher sighed as she guided him through the doors to sickbay and onto the nearest biobed.

“Q, are you _trying_ to make yourself ill!?” She groaned. 

Data’s eyes flickered as he read Q’s results over Crusher’s shoulder. “It would appear so, doctor.”

“Could you at least _attempt_ to stomach a salad once in a while?” 

Q shifted guiltily under the doctor’s incriminating gaze. “I’ll try harder.”

Crusher stared at Q’s face for a moment as if trying to decipher something, then sighed again. “I believe you.” She waved them away with a few quick flicks of her wrist. "You're taking up bed-space."

Data and Q walked out of sickbay side-by-side until they reached the turbolift, where Data shook his head apologetically. “My shift is about to begin, Q. If you wish, we could reconvene later in Ten Forward?”

“I’m sure the other crew members would just _adore_ that.” Q said sarcastically, just as the turbolift doors closed. If Data gave him an answer, he didn’t hear it.

Q decided that he could do with a good nap, but when he reached the right door his path was blocked by a crying child. She was sitting beside the door to his quarters, hugging her legs to her chest and sniffling.

“Hello?” Q said cautiously.

The girl turned around, wiping her blotchy nose in embarrassment, and Q realised with surprise that she was Vulcan. She was Vulcan, and she was crying.

“Are you alright?” Q asked, then realised that was a stupid question. “What’s wrong?” He offered, instead.

The Vulcan’s slanted eyebrows drew down over her sore eyes, and she sighed as she stared down at her shoes. “Nothing of great importance.”

Q shrugged. “If you say so.” 

He stood there awkwardly for a moment (the girl clearly hadn’t realised it was his quarters she was sitting in front of. He didn’t blame her, as nearly every door on the ship was identical. He’d had quite a few awkward experiences over the past few weeks involving door mix-ups) before asking what her name was.

“Tal.” She replied, still sniffling slightly.

“I’m Q.”

“I have never met anyone with a name shorter than mine.” Tal said shyly, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“Q is less of a name and more of an...inaccurate description.”

“My name means 'to repeat for eternity' in Cardassian. Does that mean it too is an inaccurate description?” 

“Yes, I suppose it is in a way.”

“My mother is convinced that I am to become Ambassador of Vulcan someday." She said suddenly, her gaze still fixed firmly on the floor. "I tried to discuss the matter further with her, but she is too busy with diplomatic duties to talk to me.” 

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It is not your fault, you have no need to apologise.”

He sat down beside her, drawing his own knees to his chest. Unfortunately, the computer decided that was the perfect moment to open the door to his quarters, and they both ended up flat on their backs.

They both lay there for a moment in complete shock before Tal’s shoulders began to shake again. Q sat up immediately, worried she was injured, but then he realised she was laughing.

“That was amusing.” 

Q remembered something that had happened a few weeks ago in Ten Forward- Data had been sitting with him, drinking a strawberry milkshake, and when he removed the glass from his lips it had left a trace of pink, like a very bright moustache. He had laughed so much Guinan threatened to throw him out several times (though there was nothing new about that, of course, it was common knowledge that she despised Q), and had declared that both he and Data were banned from the bar area for her next three shifts.

He stood, offering his arm to Tal as he did so. “Would you like to see something else amusing?”

\---------------------------------------

“I’ll have a chocolate sundae, and Tal will have...what would you like, Tal?”

“I have never had a sundae before,” Tal admitted, “What flavour do you recommend?”

“Guinan, I’ll have a sundae in every flavour you have.” Q decided.

Guinan looked unimpressed. “I’m not giving a seven year-old that much sugar, Q. You can order four between you at the most.”

“Fine.” Q scanned the bar, looking for a free table. Worf eyed him suspiciously from where he sat with La Forge and Data, in the corner of the room. 

“Hey, Q!” 

It was La Forge, who was waving Q over to his table for some reason. Q considered simply ignoring him, but his curiosity got the better of him and he stuck his head around the piping beside his table. 

“Hello?” He frowned. “Am I not allowed in here or something?”

La Forge rolled his eyes. “I was just wondering who the kid was.”

Tal nodded politely. “I am Tal, daughter of Ambassador Leuchi’la.”

"Ah. You're Vulcan, then?"

Tal looked as if she were about to agree, then shook her head discretely. "Half-Vulcan. My father was Romulan."

Geordi smiled back at her, and any worries that Tal had been holding about her genetic background vanished. Q could see it in the repositioning of her hands, the slight relaxation of her shoulders. “Nice to meet you, Tal. I’m Geordi, the Chief Engineer.”

Tal nodded gratefully, then looked up to Q. “Every table in this establishment is occupied, Q.”

“There are a few spaces here.” Geordi offered.

“You want me to sit with you?” Q frowned.

“Sure.”

Q had only ever had one friend, (although he wasn’t sure if Data really counted, because he was nice to everybody) so wasn’t certain whether La Forge fitted into the category or not, but he decided that he’d be glad if he did. He sat down slowly, wary that his company may be frightened off if his movements were too sudden. Tal sat beside him, her three sundaes clinking together as she placed them on the table.

“See?" La Forge smiled. "We don’t bite.”

The look Worf shot him told Q otherwise, but he wisely didn’t mention it. “Lieutenant Commander Data was just telling us about his latest work.” The Klingon practically growled, his eyes on Q the entire time.

Tal looked up from demolishing her sundaes, eyebrows raised. “Work?”

“He paints.” Geordi said proudly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

Data shook his head modestly. “Geordi, that is a matter of opinion.”

“Yeah, and my opinion is that you’re amazing at painting.”

The android’s face flushed a tinge yellower than usual. “Thank you, Geordi. I appreciate the compliment.”

Data shared a look with the engineer that made Q sure they were a little more than friends.

“Hey, you could paint Q.” Geordi suggested. 

“An excellent proposal.” He turned to Q. “What style would you prefer me to use?”

Q had only seen people paint on occasion, and wasn’t even aware that there were different styles, so he just gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Just paint Q as you see him.”

“As I see him?” Data frowned. 

“What about Q really jumps out at you? His eyes? His hair? Maybe his personality?”

Q rolled his eyes at ‘personality’, but still stood obediently as Data walked around him in a circle, eyebrows pressed together thoughtfully. Q wasn’t sure if he was making the expression unconsciously, or pretending to do it unconsciously in order to impress Geordi. In any case, either option would mean that his Android friend had climbed yet another rung on the ‘becoming human’ ladder.

“Then I would paint Q as Captain Picard’s egotistical lapdog.” Worf said after a moment. 

The right edge of the Klingon’s mouth twisted upward slightly when Tal snorted at his comment, but Data just cocked his head in confusion.

“I hope you realise I take that as a compliment.” Q said airily, holding his head up higher and furthering the already quite sizable height difference between him and the others.

Something seemed to occur to Data, and his back straightened almost imperceptibly (to non-omnipotent eyes, that is. Q would be able to measure the distance to a micron only weeks ago if he’d fancied it). He turned back to face Q, smiling slightly.

“I have decided I would rather paint you from memory, so as to properly capture what you look like ‘through my eyes’. I mean this partly metaphorically, of course, as you will not be present during the process itself.”

“Thanks, Data.” Geordi said fondly. 

Q was bored. He was bored, and he was annoyed, and if he had to wear another grey jumpsuit he was going to scream. Or cry. Perhaps both at the same time, if that was even possible. Human bodies weren’t brilliant at multitasking. His body wasn’t, anyway, so perhaps the one he had been given was faulty. Just that morning he had tried some simple throw-and-catch exercises in Data’s quarters. He had ended up breaking two plates, a lamp, and Data’s nose, the latter of which was now being fixed by Geordi down in engineering. This made Q feel even worse, as it was technically his fault that he was bored in the first place.

Data was too busy having his face fixed to have any interesting questions about emotions or quantum mechanics or Earth music (Q had recently decided that music from Earth was actually pretty decent. More specifically, music from the 1970s. He particularly had taken a liking to ‘disco’. “Do not tell Picard that,” Geordi had stressed upon finding this out, “it wouldn't improve your relationship at all”).

Tal was busy until lunchtime, and that was still a few hours off. Q was also meant to be going to a meeting at 15:00 hours to discuss his “possible role aboard the _Enterprise_ and any concerns Starfleet may have about the safety of the crew during his stay”. Q really wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. He knew the possibility that Picard would banish him from the ship was quite high, and this made Q feel, well...awful. He wasn't sure why (he was a danger to the _Enterprise_ , surely? If Q really had Picard’s best interests in mind -and he was certain he did- shouldn’t he be happy to leave the ship?), but for every minute closer the meeting crept, so did his lunch with Tal, so he tried to focus on that instead.

He eventually decided he’d spend the day in medical, as during his time about the _Enterprise_ (it was getting close to three weeks now) he had discovered that Doctor Crusher was actually a pretty bearable person once he got past the fact that she was: 

a. Probably in love with Picard 

and

b. Prettier than him.

He was on his way to do a good bit of doctor-crusher-irritating when he brushed past an ensign wearing the most daring thing he had ever seen in his life. 

“Hey!” He said, grabbing the ensign by the shoulder. “What’s that?”

The woman shrugged. “Just my uniform.”

“Why’s it different to what everyone else wears?”

The ensign gestured to an andorian scanning a patient with a tricorder. “Emise over there’s wearing one, too.” She said pointedly. “He wears them pretty much every shift.”

Q rolled his eyes (an action he had practised in the mirror many, many times so as not to embarrass himself). “You know what I mean.”

“Skants are just another uniform variant. Lots of crewmembers feel uncomfortable showing so much skin, I guess that’s why less people wear them less than the regular jumpsuits.”

“Skants.” Q repeated.

He knew what he was going to wear to the meeting.

\----------------------------

“Why are you wearing a Starfleet uniform?” Tal asked curiously over lunch.

“Why are you wearing civilian clothing?” He shot back.

She raised her eyebrow, which Q knew fully well was the Vulcan equivalent of an eye-roll. “Because I am a civilian.” 

“And this?” he motioned to the brooch pinned to the lapel of her coat.

“Guess.”

The brooch resembled a snake, curled around in a sideways figure of eight. The serpent’s head was stretched towards its tail, jaws missing tiny silver scales by only a millimeter or two. 

“To repeat for eternity.” Q murmured, echoing the girl’s earlier words.

“Yes, it’s a rather artistic interpretation of my name.” 

“Your very own inaccurate description.” Q smiled.

Tal’s fork chased a few stray crumbs around her plate. “I feel his plight is unfair.” She said after a moment. 

“The snake’s plight?”

“Yes, he is doomed to repeat the same action for eternity. He is beautiful, yes, and he cannot die, but life without death surely has no meaning.”

“He is beautiful and he cannot die.” Q repeated, his sundae forgotten. “I knew someone like that once.”

“That must have been a lonely existence.”

“Well, he has someone now. Just as your snake has you.”

“My snake is an inanimate object. My thoughts on him are therefore illogical.” Tal reminded him sternly.

Q shrugged. “They’re not illogical to me.”

Tal stared at the table for a long moment, fiddling with her knife, before eventually steering the conversation back to its original course. “I wear this coat because I am part Vulcan, and I wear this brooch because I am Tal.” 

“I thought you wore the coat because you’re cold?” Q asked teasingly.

Tal raised an impatient eyebrow. “Yes, but I am cold because I am used to the far warmer, drier climate of Vulcan.”

“Okay.” Q thought for a moment. “I’m wearing these-” he pointed to his shoes “-because they're comfy, and this-” he pointed to the skant “-because I’m trying to seduce Captain Picard.”

Tal’s eyebrows raised in amusement, a smile creeping across her face, but it quickly vanished and was replaced by her usual anxious frown. “My mother says your pursuit of him is illogical. She is sure you will fail.”

“You told your mother I’m trying to seduce Captain Picard?”

“No, your every action has told my mother that you are trying to seduce Captain Picard.”  
\---------------------

“Q, are you wearing a skant?”

Q lifted his head slightly from the biobed he was lying on. “Yes.”

Dr. Crusher pushed his head back down. She studied the readings on the screen in front of her, frowning and murmuring things Q couldn’t quite catch. Q started to feel concerned after a few minutes of this, and sat back up. He got pushed back onto the biobed immediately.

“Your sugar intake has levelled out.”

“Yup.”

A pause in the conversation, filled only by the beeps and blinks Q's biobed was emitting, and then:

“Why are you wearing a skant?” 

Q snorted at the suddenness of the question, then quickly composed himself and looked Crusher right in the eyes. “I wasn’t aware it was your job to question my fashion choices, Doctor.”

“They’re not very _practical_ are they, Q?”

“They’re Starfleet uniforms, Doctor. I assure you that practicality is the only thing that was considered when they were designed.”

“Well...it’s quite short.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Doctor?”

“Are you even allowed to wear a Starfleet uniform?”

“You tell me.”

“Well, if the Capt- has the Captain seen you wearing this?”

Q stood and stretched. “Would it be a problem if he did?”

Beverly pulled a face. “Everything you say makes me so uncomfortable.”

“That’s funny, everything you say makes me want to cry.”

“And yet we’re friends.”

Q bit back a witty remark, instead asking: “We are?”

“If you want to be.”

“I’d like that.”

“Weirdly, so would I.” Beverly pointed to the monitor. “Now get back over here so I can lecture you about your lack of exercise.”

\------------------------------------------

Riker pounced on him as soon as he stepped through the ready-room doors. “You can’t wear that, you’re not a Starfleet officer.”

Q rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re just jealous because you couldn’t possibly pull it off.”

Riker was about to say that he could actually pull it off very well (in fact Deanna had warned him that he pulled it off a little too well and had been distracting quite a few people from their duties), but the Captain walked in at that moment, so he stayed silent.

“Q, you know very well you’re not allowed to wear Starfleet uniform. Take it off.” Picard said without even a second glance in Q’s direction.

Q lounged back in his chair, grinning. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“In your quarters, Q.”

“But then I’d have to miss the meeting.” Q protested. “After I came all the way up here, too! Come on, Jean-Luc, surely-”

“We’ll put you in the brig.” Riker interrupted.

Q doubted the Captain would actually let him do that, but he raised his hands in defeat anyway. “Fine, I'll go change.”

“We’ll postpone the meeting until Lieutenant Commanders Data and La Forge are able to attend.”

Q stood and left the room, then lingered outside the door to hear if they said anything about him. They didn’t. Riker was just talking about some adventure they were having in the holodeck tomorrow. He heard Worf grumble something about a spy- did they know he was there? 

Q stepped back hurriedly. He jumped to the side just as the door swished open. Picard walked out and eyed him, his expression unreadable. Q tried for a cocky smile, but his facial muscles refused to cooperate. He swallowed, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Q?” Picard asked, his voice oddly stern for such a friendly question.

Q froze for a moment, then he felt his cheeks pull in opposite directions. He tried to stop the ridiculous display, but his muscles ignored him. Q knew enough about human autonomy to figure out that he was smiling. He was smiling a genuine smile. He was happy. He was _delighted_. 

How terribly embarrassing. 

Riker shook his head in amusement. “I think that’s a yes, Captain.” 

Picard nodded. “We’ll see you there then, Mr. Q. The programme is one of 1960s Earth, so do make sure to dress-” he gave Q’s skant one last glance “-appropriately.”

“I’ll try my best.”

\--------------------------------

“What about this French hat thingy?” Q asked later, from the safety of Data’s quarters. “Think it could maybe get me some brownie-points with the Captain?”

Data frowned. “Although I doubt a beret will change the Captain’s opinion of you in any way, I do believe that you could use ‘all the luck you can get’.”

“Oi!” Q scowled, though he knew his friend was right. He desperately needed to get back on Picard’s good side. To tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually been on anything other than his bad side. 

“Are you able to dance?” Data asked, his head tilted.

“Of course.” Q scoffed (this was a lie, Q was a notoriously bad dancer).

“I cannot.” Data said quietly. “Several people have endeavored to teach me, yet I have been informed that I am never quite able to capture the 'spirit' of the dance itself.”

“What are you suggesting, something horribly sentimental?” Q scowled. “We’re all capable of doing things others can’t, or something equally disgusting?”

“No, I am proposing a trade of sorts.” 

Data paused, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked so lost that Q started to feel bad about how harshly he’d spoken to him. They were supposed to be friends, weren’t they?

“Data, you don’t need to give me anything. I’ll teach you to dance because you’re pretty much the only person who actually likes me, and you deserve to be able to do anything you want.”

His friend seemed taken aback for a moment (perhaps it was because Q’s usually grating voice had suddenly become gentler), but quickly recovered. He opened his mouth- presumably to thank him- but Q held up a hand.

“Don’t thank me, I’m just following your lead. You’d make a better human than I ever will, anyway.”

“You are a good friend, Q.”

Q smiled genuinely at his friend for a moment, then took a deep breath. He placed one hand on Data’s shoulder, and held out the other to him. Data took it delicately, and looked at him expectantly. 

“Right, let’s see if you can do the Bajoran Salsa as badly as I can.”

\--------------------------------------

Q had decided it was time to ask someone else for advice, as his own judgement of what Picard would and wouldn’t like seemed to be a little off. He didn’t want to ask Data, (as good a friend as he was, Q had realised Data seemed to get quite confused about human customs from time-to-time, and Q couldn’t afford that) or Riker (he was till very wary of Q), and even Tal was out of the picture, with her being only seven and all.

This was why Q was skulking around engineering at 2am, waiting for La Forge to show his face so that Q could ambush and interrogate him about how best to win Picard over.

Q eventually found La Forge buried face-first up to his shoulders in a console panel, swearing and holding several sharp-looking objects in his hands.

“Geordi?” Q hissed, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Are you almost finished?”

Geordi jumped backwards in what was apparently shock, his head hitting several panels on the inside of the console as he struggled to control his laughter.

“What?” Q frowned. He could feel his eyebrows creeping further down his forehead, crawling down towards his eyes as if to seek cover.

Geordi shook his head, his task apparently forgotten. “You’re just so expressive, Q. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Really?” Q pursed his lips, revelling in the smile that the action earned from Geordi. “I wasn’t aware I acted any differently to yourself.”

Geordi sent him a disbelieving smile before turning back to his console panel. “What was it you wanted?”

“Advice.”

“Is this about Captain Picard?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help exactly, but I’ll try. Fire away.”

“How exactly do you admit your feelings to someone who hates you?”

“Captain Picard doesn't hate you, Q.”

“Yes, he does,” Q insisted, “He’s waved away every one of my advances and has stated several times that he never wants to see me again.”

“Didn’t he invite you to come to the holodeck with us tomorrow because you showed up in a skant?”

“Those two incidences are unrelated.” Q glared down at his hands. “He feels sorry for me, that’s all.”

Geordi shrugged. “I don’t know, Q. You’re probably reading him wrong.”

“This is Jean-Luc, La Forge. If he felt anything about me at all he would’ve told me, you know that.”

“Well, sure. But when you’re the Captain of the Federation’s flagship you have to make sacrifices, right?”

“Sacrifices?”

“Sacrifices like not getting into relationships with unpredictable, omnipotent aliens that may or may not find endangering the lives of crewmembers aboard certain spaceships amusing.”

“I’m a terrible person.” Q whispered. “How can you even stand to be around me?”

“Because I understand. The Q are different from humanity. They’re different from Vulcans, and Gorns and Andorians. All species are different, otherwise there wouldn’t have to be different words for th-” Geordi pulled at a wire and was immediately showered with sparks. “-dammit.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ll probably never be able to understand who you used to be, but I understand who you are now. You’re Q. You’re great with kids, you have a frankly quite weird relationship with Captain Picard, you’re overwhelmed by the smallest of things, like Data sometimes is. You’re Q, and you’re my friend.

“We’re friends? We really are? That’s not just something you’re saying to make me leave, then?” 

Geordi nodded in clarification, the sparks now slightly more under control.

“That’s incredible. Thank you, Geordi.”  
\-----------------------------------

After several hours spent rummaging through his wardrobe, the replicator patterns, and Wesley Crusher’s dressing-up box that he’d had since he was four years old and kept forgetting to throw out, Q had eventually decided on an orange version of the hat. He was becoming rather fond of the colour and, judging by the raised eyebrows thrown his way when he approached the small crowd waiting outside holodeck three, he was certain he'd made the right decision.

“Right then,” he rubbed his hands together, “let’s get started.”

Picard eyed his hat, but said nothing.

Data appeared at his elbow, looking as mildly interested as always. “Have you decided on a name for today?” 

“A name?”

“Yes, for your holodeck character. If you wish, I will assist you.”

“What’s your holodeck name?”

“Sherlock Holmes.” Data answered, which resulted in several rolled eyes from pretty much everyone but Geordi (who smiled fondly) and Jean-Luc (who probably wasn’t allowed to be mean to Data).

Q thought for a moment, then sent Jean-Luc a smug smile to accompany his equally smug eyebrows. “Alrighty. I’m Quincy Picard, then.”

Picard looked as if he were about to object, but then nodded in defeat. Worf eyed him testily. Q smiled sweetly back at both of them.

“In that case, I’ll be...Jules Arnette.”

“Permission to change my name to Quincy Arne-”

“Permission denied.” Picard interjected. “Lead the way, Ms. Cassidy.”

Geordi sent him a sympathetic smile as the Captain took up a new conversation, this time with Doctor Crusher. Q felt so betrayed that he didn’t look up from glaring at the floor until he heard a gasp to his right.

“Q, I think you should look up now.” Geordi nudged him.

Q did, and he fell in love. Or, more accurately, he decided he was one day going to own every single article of clothing he could see around him. Everything was so colourful he felt that if his eyeballs tried to cram any more information into his brain he would faint. Everywhere he looked there were spots and stripes, oranges and purples and blues, miniskirts and neckties and knee-high boots. When two women passed him wearing matching green and pink striped coats he nearly cried.

“Groovy, right?”

Q blinked, and the fashion-initiated frenzy he was crawling into paused when he realised that it was Geordi who had spoken. Geordi, who was grinning as he tried to lead Q up the steps of a nearby cafe. Q shook his head, only slightly embarrassed, and assured his friend he could manage.

“It’s fine to be overwhelmed,” Geordi said confidently, “My first time in the holodeck? I threw up. I was three years old, but still.”

A waitress came over to take their order and, to Q’s delight, she was wearing the same beret he was.

“It seems you’ve become a bit of a sheep, Q.” Riker commented, though there was no malice in his voice.

Beverly badgered Q into ordering tomato soup, and as he waited for it to arrive he studied the people around him. 

A man walked by wearing a white coat covered in what seemed to be ink blots, with a creature in a similar attire attached to what looked like a rope trotting by his side. Q watched curiously as the creature walked by, the intricate black markings on its body shifting as it did so.

Data followed Q’s gaze, and he too eyed the creature with a child-like interest. “The dalmatian,” he said enthusiastically, “was originally bred as a carriage dog, but regained popularity again in the twentieth century with the release of-”

Geordi nudged him gently, smiling. “And that one?” He asked, pointing to a similar creature, this one with mottled brown fur.

“A dalmatian.” Q repeated.

“I am afraid that is a border collie, Q. Although both breeds of dog, they are quite different.”

Q listened as his friend talked animatedly, and realised with surprise that his interest in his friend’s little speech was genuine. He actually cared about what Data was saying, which was usually something his tiny human brain reserved only for-

“Q?”

Jean-Luc’s hand on his shoulder set off a reflex Q wasn’t even aware he had, and he jumped so suddenly that his bagel ended up face-down in his lap. If the other man winced in sympathy Q didn’t see, as he was too busy scrubbing butter off his corduroy dungarees.

“Mr. Arnette?” Q ventured, embarrassed at being caught off guard.

“I heard you had been giving Mr, ah...Mr. Holmes dancing lessons?” 

Q looked up from his ordeal and sighed. “This is never going to come out, is it? Computer, arch!”

“Q, you’re being dramatic. Computer, cancel arch and replicate a suitable replacement for Mr. Q’s...outfit.”

“That’s Mr. Picard to you.” Q reminded his name-sake of sorts as he accepted the trousers a waitress handed him. 

“As if we could forget.” Riker mumbled into his drink.

Q sent him his third-flirtiest smile (the fake one he only ever used on Q, Riker, and occasionally Q if she was being particularly irritating).

“I’m off to change,” he said as airily as he could, “don’t let my soup go cold, dear.”

\----------------------------

“Looking good, Q.” Geordi grinned when he returned.

Q’s replacement trousers were striped orange and blue, and had he decided that he liked them even more than his dungarees.

“I think I might start dressing like this more often.” Q announced. “As long as you have no problem with it of course, Jean-Luc.”

“It’s against no regulation that I can think of, Mr. Picard.” 

Riker raised his eyebrows at this, clearly surprised that Jean-Luc was allowing, never mind entertaining, Q’s apparent flirtations.

Q sent Jean-Luc a sly smile as he sat down, and tried to ignore the growing urge to rest his hand over the top of the Captain’s by desperately looking for something else to turn his attention to. There was a plant on the table that was practically begging for Q to poke it. It was covered in tiny spines and had a large, pink flower sprouting out of the top of it. Q gave in to temptation and laid a finger over the top of the flower. He felt a sharp pain, and instinctively (he was having instincts regularly now? How pathetic!) brought his hand to his lips. 

“Hey!” he protested. “That plant just _attacked_ me!”

Worf looked unimpressed. “It is a cactus, Q. Be less of an infant next time.”

“Easy, guys.” Geordi murmured, clearly ready to grab Q in case he tried to do something stupid like start pelting Worf with cacti until he apologised.

“It's alright,” Q sniffed, “the Q don’t look upon adolescence with shame.”

“Perhaps that’s why children tend to take such a liking to you.” Jean-Luc suggested.

“Probably.” Q shrugged nonchalantly, though on the inside he was glowing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Both Counselor Troi and Wesley had joined their little group today in Ten forward. This evening they were talking about Q’s very obvious infatuation with Picard, a topic that always seemed to rear its irritating head after Q had had a few too many chocolate sundaes.

It had been a week since their little holodeck adventure, and Q’s progress with the Captain had seemingly gone backwards (this was mostly due to what La Forge had taken up to calling ‘the mayo incident’. He and Q had been discussing the 'fact' that mayonnaise made everything better, a statement which Q in particular took to heart. The only information I’ll disclose about this incident is that it involved the Captain’s morning cup of Earl Grey).

“I’ve tried everything.” Q glared, stabbing rather viciously at his cheesecake. “You know how many times he’s smiled at me today? Not once! It’s a disgrace.”

This outburst was met with an uncomfortable silence. 

“Maybe your tactic of brazenly flirting with him until he notices you isn’t the best.” Wesley said tentatively, keeping his eyes on his iced coffee the entire time.

“I highly doubt that.” Q said dismissively.

“I agree with the Crusher boy. Your attempts to court Picard have made me dislike you even more than I already did.”

Q smiled sweetly back at the Klingon. “Always a charmer, Worf. Your input is greatly appreciated, of course.” 

“Well, there’s always-” Geordi shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Q asked pleadingly

“Have you tried...jealousy?”

Q snorted. He had gotten pretty familiar with that emotion after Jean-Luc had set his sights on that Vash woman. 

“If you started seeing someone else, maybe the Captain would get jealous?” He shrugged at the doubtful looks the others gave him. “Just throwing ideas around.”

“I don’t like agreeing to this kind of emotional blackmail,” Deanna said slowly, “but it could work.”

Q perked up slightly at this. “You think so?”

Deanna nodded. “The Captain has strong, very complicated feelings towards you. Perhaps one of these feelings is attraction, or even love.”

Q allowed himself a moment to ponder this over- could it really happen? Him and Jean-Luc? He supposed that if Deanna Troi, expert in emotions great and small thought it could work out then surely they had a chance.

“Alright,” Q nodded, “but who would I start ‘seeing’?”

Geordi looked over to Data, who caught his eye. The two of them seemed to have some sort of silent conversation that ended in Data shaking his head slightly. Geordi looked quickly back to Q and shrugged. “I don’t know. Anyone on board, I guess.”

Q raised his eyebrows, deciding to ignore the odd little exchange the two of them had just had in favour of solving his own puzzle first. “It would have to be someone who already knows about my…”

“Complete and all-encompassing devotion to and obsession with Captain Picard.” Wesley finished, earning himself a snicker from La Forge.

“Exactly.” Q agreed, pointing his straw at the boy.

Wesley shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t.” Deanna said immediately, then looked to Worf.

“No.” The Klingon would’ve blanched if it were possible for his species. It wasn’t, though, so he just looked very uncomfortable. “I refuse to be a part of this ridiculous endeavour.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“You’re helping me out! It’s very honourable, you know.”

Worf considered this for a moment. His dark eyes bore into Q’s own, searching for something mocking, perhaps. Whatever he was looking for he clearly didn’t find it, because the scowl stuck itself straight back onto his face.

“You are not allowed to touch me at any point.”

“Is that a yes?”

Everyone looked expectantly at Worf.

Worf shifted in his seat, then nodded slowly, as if the longer he put off agreeing to help Q the less likely it was he'd actually have to. “Provided you are respectful.”

“Yes!” Q pumped his fist “Thank you! You won’t regret this!”

“I already do.”  
\-------------------------------------------------

Apparently the universe wanted Q to succeed in his little plan, as that evening he got into the turbolift at the same as Picard.

“Ten Forward.” Q said, just as Picard said “The bridge please, Computer.”

Q stood with his hands behind his back, chin up. He suddenly felt very childish standing there in his too-small red suit with his untamable hair, on his way to a fake date with someone who hated him. Perhaps if he stayed silent Picard wouldn’t even realise he was there.

He did not breathe. He did not look at Picard. He was completely invisible. He did not breathe. He did not move. He did not br-

Q’s human lungs eventually betrayed him, and he ended up gasping for air just as the turbolift doors opened. Picard turned around and eyed him oddly.

“You’re looking very-”

“Dapper?” Q supplied, feeling hopeful.

“I was going to say ‘excited’.”

“Ah.”

“I’m going on a date with Worf!” Q yelled just as the doors were sliding closed.

He only caught the smallest glimpse of the Captain's startled expression, but it was enough to keep him smug until he reached Ten Forward.

\---------------------------------------

“What are you up to, Q? And why are you dressed like a volcano?” Guinan frowned suspiciously as she slid a chocolate sundae over the counter.

“If you must know, I’m having a drink with my man.” Q said innocently, turning around to send a wave to Worf who made a point of looking in the opposite direction.

“Worf is ‘your man’ now.” Guinan practically drawled, her eyebrows climbing so high up her forehead that Q was sure they’d start trying to escape if she wasn’t too careful.

Q smiled the most ostentatious smile he could, propping his chin up on a hand and leaning as close to Guinan as possible. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually...yes. It is. It’s very hard to believe.”

“Then I guess you’re just not mature enough to comprehend the seriousness of our relationship.” Q shot back, practically gliding over to Worf’s table.

“Good evening.” Q set their drinks down on the table and perched himself on the bench opposite Worf, who just glared at him.

“Are you in love with him?” Worf asked after a moment of silence. It hadn’t been awkward, exactly, just quiet.“Yes.” Q admitted.

“Then you have an advantage.”

“What's that, then?”

“People will feel sorry for you when he turns you down.”

“You wound me!”

“Believe me, if that were allowed it would have happened long ago.”

“Damn, Worf.” Q snorted, his drink dangerously close to coming out of his nose.

“I am only preparing you for the obvious eventuality.”

Q ignored the last comment, and instead took a sip of smoothie (it had fruit in, so Doctor Crusher might cut him a little slack in the nutrition department).

“Are you aware that nearly every fruit is incredibly high in sugar?” Worf said, as if he had read his mind.

Q took an angry sip from his glass, and almost choked on an ice cube. “I can’t drink anything anymore.” He said bitterly.

“Water.” Worf suggested.

Q rolled his eyes. “Is Guinan still staring at us?”

“Yes.”

Q thought for a moment, then nudged his companion. “Pretend to laugh at something I just said.”

Worf leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded.“That would be implausible.”

Q stole a look over his shoulder to see if Guinan was actually watching them, and gasped when he saw the door slide open.

“It’s him!”

“Does he look jealous?”

“No.” Worf said curtly.

“What’s he doing, then?” Q hissed impatiently.

“He is talking to Guinan…now he is laughing...he is still laughing...he is coming over to our table.”

Worf stopped scowling long enough to keep Q from attempting to hide behind his smoothie. 

“How has your evening been so far?” Picard asked, sending both men a slightly awkward smile. 

“Great.” Q squeaked back.

“Good.”

An awkward pause, and then:

“Yourself, Mr. Worf?”

“Q has proved himself to be...tolerable company.”

“I’m sure.” Picard threw them both another odd look, pulled his uniform shirt down in that way Q found horribly endearing, then left.

Q outwardly cringed, hiding his head in his hands and shaking his shoulders in mock-sobs.

“That is the most silent you have been since I had the displeasure of meeting you.”

“Don’t.”

“It was almost as if you were nervous, Q.” Worf said, a distinct gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, pish posh.”

Worf hid his smile with his prune juice, and said nothing.  
\-----------------------------

Deanna Troi walked into the senior staff meeting with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She had been hearing rumours all week that Starfleet weren’t happy about Q living as a civilian on the _Enterprise_ , and today was the day she would find out how much of the gossip had been true. 

“Where’s Q?” Was not the first thing she thought she would be saying in a briefing that was being held for the benefit of the aforementioned Q, but, to her worry, it was. "And Data and Geordi? Why aren't they here?"

“We thought it would be best we discuss this without them.” Will said, not meeting her eye.

“And what exactly are we discussing, Commander?” Deanna said calmly. Her hands were steady, her back straight. She knew that fighting for Q to remain on the ship was the right thing to do- the question was whether or not Will would agree with her decision. 

“The possibility that we may have to transfer Q.” Picard said evenly, breaking the silence that had fallen between Riker and Troi.

Deanna stepped forwards. “But, Captain-”

Picard held up a hand. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, Counselor, but Starfleet Command have been insistent, and I’m afraid that if-”

“And have they considered Q? Have they asked what he wants? He’s older than all of us put together, I’m sure he’s capable of making his own decisions.”

Picard stared down at the table for a moment, aching with guilt. “No.” he admitted.

Riker looked as if he were about to defend the Captain, but one look from Deanna silenced him. She turned back to Picard, arms folded. “Have you seen Q today?”

“No, why?” Picard stood suddenly. “Has he left the ship?”

“No, nothing like that.” Deanna shook her head, “Guinan told me he was in ten forward earlier with Tal again.”

“Tal?” Picard frowned. “The ambassador’s daughter?”

“I saw them earlier too,” Riker admitted, “As much as I hate to dash my own dreams of never seeing or hearing from Q again, I think he may have found his calling.”

“You yourself said you were surprised how different Q seems to act around children, Captain.” Deanna pointed out.

"Probably because he's practically one himself." Riker muttered, earning himself a raised eyebrow from his partner.

Picard steepled his fingers beneath his chin, thinking what his two officers had just said. The possible repercussions they could have, the drawbacks. Could Q really live on a starship? What would Command think of this? Not to mention Q’s enemies, did they know he was mortal again?

“You’re suggesting Q becomes...what? A teacher?”

Deanna shook her head, sensing the conflict in Picard’s mind. She pointed towards the ready room door. “I think he’s the one you should be asking, Captain.”  
\---------------------------------

“My name is Q and I dislike humanity!” Tal declared, her pointed ears tucked under Q’s beret.

Q pointed his straw, still dripping with the remnants of a long finished milkshake, mock-threateningly at his young friend. “Give it back or you’re a goner.”

“I think it rather suits her.”

“Captain Picard!” Tal stood immediately, raising her hand in a Vulcan salute as she did so. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality, my mother and I are most content here.”

Picard mirrored the gesture, smiling kindly. “At ease, Tal. I actually came to talk to your companion. Do you mind if I borrow him for a moment?”

“Do you wish for me to leave?” She asked, still hovering a little to the side of her chair.

He shook his head. “It’s alright, you can stay.”

Tal nodded gratefully and sat back down as Picard pulled up another chair.

“Q, what would you like to do?”

Q smiled coquettishly. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

Picard ignored the comment. “If there was a position open in the education department of this ship would you take it?”

“Jean-Luc, are you offering me a job?” Q asked, genuinely surprised. 

“I’m offering you a position on this ship, but if you don’t feel you’re ready, I’m sure something else can be arranged, say if-”

“I’ll take it.”

“Q, you don’t even know wh-”

“I’ll take it. If it means I get to be here, on the _Enterprise_ , I’ll take it.”

Picard looked taken aback. Q hadn’t specifically said he was staying so that he got to see Jean-Luc, though perhaps it was obvious.

“Q is to continue living on the Enterprise?” Tal asked through an enormous bite of sundae (it was vanilla, as Guinan refused to have to clear up after another Vulcan drunk on chocolate).

“Yeah.” Q smiled across at his new friend, “I suppose I am.”

\---------------------------------------

Later, Geordi joined Tal and Q at their table for a celebratory slice of quatkal (some sort of Vulcan pie that was much more bitter than Q expected it to be), and to watch Data perform a song at the piano. Apparently these little concerts happened quite regularly, though neither Q nor Tal had seen one before. The whole thing was very casual- just Data sitting on a makeshift stage with his piano as people sat around chatting and drinking. 

“He’s pretty good, right?” Geordi smiled.

Q turned in his seat to watch Data as he played. His fingers flew across the keys with such speed that Q was sure even Tal’s Vulcan eyes would have trouble keeping up.

“ _Some kind of innocence is measured out in years_ …” Data sang, his voice pitch-perfect.

Tal seemed transfixed, as if she’d never heard anyone sing before. Her hands danced across the table as if she were unconsciously playing along with Data, her fingers tapping to the beat exactly.

“He is excellent.” She whispered in agreement.

“ _You can talk to me, you can talk to me_ …” Data hollered in the background, before launching into another frenzied session on the piano.

“Here’s your chocolate cake,” Guinan placed a plate in front of Geordi, “and another slice of pie for the little lady.”

“Hey!” Q protested. “I ordered, too.”

“Really? I must’ve missed that. Do excuse me.”

Data finished the song with a final flourish, then stood and looked expectantly at the small crowd that had gathered around the piano.

“Was that satisfactory?”

This was followed by a round of applause originating mainly from Geordi, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Great song, D.” Geordi said, still clapping as Data made his way over to their table.

“I enjoyed your recital very much, Lieutenant Commander Data,” Tal agreed, “May I ask whether you wrote the song yourself?”

Data nodded graciously. “It is an old Earth song originating in the nineteen-sixties, originally written and performed by a band named The Beatles.” He turned to Q. “I must admit I have become rather fascinated with the decade ever since our trip to the holodeck.”

“Well, I thought it was brilliant.” Geordi beamed, pressing a quick kiss to Data’s cheek that Tal pretended she didn’t see.

"Lieutenant Commander Data?" Tal asked, her hands fidgeting with her shirt in the way that Q now knew meant she was nervous. "Would you perhaps be able to give me piano lessons? Your performance was fascinating to watch, and I believe it would be an invaluable experience to learn from one as talented as yourself."

Data cocked his head, yellow eyes bright. "Intriguing. You wish for me to pass my knowledge on the instrument to yourself?" Data nodded. "I accept."

They nodded politely to each other, a gesture so perfectly timed, so synchronised, that Q would've struggled to believe that Data hadn't somehow calculated the exact decisecond that Tal's head would straighten up again.

Data sat opposite Q (the android looked so pale sandwiched between Geordi and Tal that if anyone told Q he was eating crudites with a ghost he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash), and snaked his arm around La Forge’s shoulder. They looked so...domestic that Q suddenly felt ill. It wasn’t jealousy, no, but it was...something. He felt simultaneously alone and ridiculous for feeling alone. A cold, uncomfortable feeling wrapped itself around his chest.

“I’m going to bed.” He walked out of Ten Forward with his head lowered, not lingering even a moment to see the looks of concern thrown his way.

A part of Q hoped that Picard might be on his way down from the bridge and step into the same turbolift as him, or maybe he’d turn a corner and see Counselor Troi about to turn in for the night, but he saw neither of them on the walk back to his quarters. As soon as the door opened he collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed and feeling empty. 

Maybe he wasn’t suited to life on the _Enterprise_. Jean-Luc probably didn’t even care where he went. They could drop him off at the next planet the ship passed and no-one would miss him. Well, Data might. Geordi and the others would forget him soon enough, though, Human minds were like that, always forgetting. Memories of birthdays and first words and childhood holidays were attacked and torn apart by time until eventually there was nothing left of them at all.

“Q?” 

Tal was at his door. 

“Lights to thirteen percent.” Q mumbled into his pillow. He didn’t feel like talking, but he also didn’t feel like turning Tal away, so he just lay there until the door opened.

“May I enter?”

Q raised his head in acknowledgment. Tal stood there fidgeting with the hem of her shirt for a moment, then cleared her throat.

“You are very kind.” She bowed neatly at the waist. “That is all I wish to say. Goodnight.”

She turned to leave, but Q called out.

“Wait.” 

Tal did, standing on the threshold and blinking as her eyes readjusted to the harsh lights of the _Enterprise_ corridors.

“Thank you.” Q said.

The two shared a small smile before Tal nodded politely and turned, the door to Q’s quarters closing as she did so.  
\---------------------------------------

It was Q’s first day of teaching on the _Enterprise_ , and he was absolutely terrified.

An andorian greeted him at the door, explaining that he had nothing to worry about, as all they’d be doing that day was looking after the children whilst their parents worked around the ship.

“It’s actually pretty easy.” She assured him. “All you do is tell them their drawings look nice and try not to cry when they inevitably pull your hair.”

“Sounds like a new experience.” Q said, determined to stay positive. He had been given a chance, and he would take it. 

“Yes, try and use that to your advantage.” The andorian sighed, pushing him towards a table where a boy was scribbling on a PADD.

“Hello.” Q said, slightly more shyly than he would have liked.

“Hello. My name’s Deztra.” The boy chirped back. “Do you like my Jaguar?”

Q wasn’t sure what a Jaguar was, and said so.

“It’s a very big cat.”

Q thought back to his first encounter with spot and grimaced. “It sounds terrifying.”

“Does this scare you?” Deztra frowned, flipping the PADD around and waving it towards Q’s nose for further inspection.

Q studied the drawing’s sharp teeth, its dappled markings along the cat’s fur, its enormous claws.

“It looks as if it’s about to leap off the page and eat me.” 

“You can never be too careful on the _Enterprise_.” The andorian woman muttered.

“Is it true that you’ve only been on the _Enterprise_ for half a cycle?” Deztra asked. 

“Yes, it is.” Q agreed.

“Okay.” Deztra said, then went back to scribbling more blood into his Jaguar’s mouth. “Here.” he turned the PADD back to Q. There was now a figure being held in the creature’s mouth. “That’s you being eaten.” He explained.

“Fantastic.” Q smiled (he did not add that it was the most horrifying piece of art he’d ever seen, as he didn’t want to hurt Deztra’s feelings). “Would you like to hear about a rather hair-raising run-in I once had with a Sehlat?”

“Okay.”  
\--------------------------

The terrifying drawing Deztra had done earlier reminded Q of the portrait Data had promised him, so he stopped by his friend’s quarters when his shift was over to see how it was coming along. When Q reached the door it slid open automatically, but there was no sign of Data.

“Hello?” Q called, half-expecting Data to emerge from a cupboard and explain that he was trying to figure out whether or not he was afraid of the dark.

No answer, no Data.

He was alone.

Alone with an enormous stack of paintings.

Q looked through the canvases, hoping to find his own portrait, but found nothing that even slightly resembled himself.

A few of Geordi, some of Spot, a very colourful portrait of Worf with some sort of instrument… He paused over a sketch of the _Enterprise_ and admired Data’s work for a moment. His friend really was talented.

“Q?”

Q jumped guiltily at the sound of Data’s voice, but his friend seemed unfazed at the sight of Q searching through his possessions.

“Uh, hey Data, I was just wondering if you’d finished your painting?” 

“You would like to see it?”

“Of course!”

Data opened the door to his washroom. It was overflowing with canvases, many of them wrapped in cloth, presumably to protect them. He reached for the largest of the parcels, and passed it to Q.

“I hope you find it aesthetically pleasing.”

“As long as it’s not my face plastered over a Pomeranian I’ll be overjoyed.” Q huffed, thinking back to what Worf had said earlier.

Q unwrapped the canvas with great care, aware that Data’s eyes were on him the entire time. He peeled back the final layer of cloth and gasped.

Data had painted…

Data had painted Q.

Clouds of cosmic dust, flowing through stars and brilliant patches of colour, of light, of beauty- universes living and dying all at once, and yet simultaneously not at all. Space and time and all the majesty of the universe, and in the middle of it all a shining, swirling mass of life, of Q. It was a form Q knew well, a form he had taken for millennia. A form no mortal had seen until now.

Q’s head was spinning so much that he had to sit down. Clearly, his brain couldn’t comprehend the majesty of his original form, not even in a mere painting.

“Q?” Data rushed to his side, his eyebrows furrowed. “I apologise if I have upset you, I have-”

“Thank you.” Q said weakly, black spots still dancing in front of his eyes. “It’s weird- I didn’t think I had to see that, but I did. I really, really did.”

Q felt his eyes grow wet, and he threw his arms around the android’s body before he could notice. “Thank you.” He repeated, and continued to repeat for several minutes. “Thank you, Data.”

Data stood there, completely rigid for a moment, before relaxing slightly and putting his arms around his friend. “You are very welcome.”  
\---------------------------------

He was going to tell Jean-Luc.

He was going to tell him how he felt, and Jean-Luc was going to listen, and then he’d react in a way that Q wasn’t certain of yet, and then he’d go back to teaching and sleeping and eating without being constantly terrified all the time.

“Computer, locate Captain Picard.”

“Captain Picard is located on the bridge. Captain Picard is located in the ready room of the engineering department.”

“ _Sorry_? Computer, where is Captain Picard located?”

“Captain Picard is located on the bridge. Captain Picard is located in the ready room of the engineering department.” The system repeated.

Q figured the computer was malfunctioning again, and decided to try engineering first. It was closer, and he didn’t really want to announce his feelings in front of the entire bridge crew, no matter how many of them already knew.

Q found the ready room with relative ease (he was beginning to figure out the layout of the ship by now), and walked straight in, not wanting to give himself even the slightest chance of backing out of his conversation with Picard. 

“Jean-Luc?”

Picard turned around much too quickly, his eyes wide. His face seemed to shift for a moment, glitching in and out of focus like an old television set. Q took a step back, suddenly feeling ill. 

Jean-Luc followed him, but again moved far too fast. Q found himself nearly nose-to-nose with the man, Jean-Luc’s cold hands pressed to his temples, his eyes shut. Q blinked, and he was standing a few feet away, a smile on his face. The smile was not happy, or sympathetic. It was the smile of someone who had just realised something they could use to their advantage. It was a cunning smile, and it was on Jean-Luc’s face, and it did not belong there.

“Q.” Jean-Luc grinned. His teeth were so, so white. Had they always been that white?

Q let out the sound of a frightened animal- trapped, confused, disorientated.

“You’re not Jean-Luc.” Q somehow managed to whisper, his hands shaking.

“Jackpot.” Not Jean-Luc hissed. His teeth were sharp, and so white. Unnaturally so.

The creature advanced forwards, still smiling. It’s smile was so wide, lips stretching much too far into the cheek. Its teeth were so blindingly white. Q hated that mouth, he hated those teeth. The creature’s face looked as if it was patched together, cut up and stuck back on like a child's collage. It was a monster, and Q was powerless against it in this form. 

Perhaps the only weapon he had left were his lies.

“Stay back!” Q warned, trying to sound as condescending as possible whilst simultaneously having to curl his hands into fists to minimise the shaking. “Don’t you know I’m a Q, you imbecile? A member of the continuum? Do you know what you’re dealing with here? I’ll crush you into atoms if you so much as breathe on me.”

The creature faltered for a moment, but then shook its head, lips stretching even further. “I saw your mind. You once had immense power, but now you are but a useless human.”

It surged forwards, and suddenly there were hands on Q’s throat. 

“A pathetic, useless human.” The creature repeated, before it sank its teeth into Q’s neck.

Q had never felt pain before. No. Q had had trips and falls, and, once, a scraped knee when he was first getting the hand of his human body. He had been pushed into walls a few times. But pain was new to him. Once, as a member of the continuum, he had walked through the burning heart of a sun, and felt nothing. So, to rephrase: Q had never felt pain like this before. His jaw ached and his chest burned and every atom in his body, every fibre of being he had screamed at him to escape, to run far away from this awful place, but the creature had him pinned to the wall. 

Q couldn’t move. His body had gone into shock.

He couldn’t breath. 

Couldn’t think, couldn’t react.

All his world was and ever had been was pain.

It was all it would be, too, the creature told him, although he couldn’t hear it.

What he did hear was a knock at the door. 

“La Forge here. Ensign Beck, is that you in there?”

Q’s instincts kicked back in, and he threw his leg up into the nearest chair. It collided with the table, making a pathetic amount of noise in the process.

“GEORDI!!!” He screamed into the creature’s hand. He bit down on it, hard, but the grip was vice-like, and it just pressed down even harder.

“Hello?”

The door opened, and Geordi stared at the scene in front of him- what looked to be Captain Picard pinning Q to the wall, his teeth embedded in his neck. 

“Well, _shit_.”

Geordi’s appearance was enough of a distraction for Q to squirm out of his trap, but the two of them were still alone and unarmed in a room with what was apparently some kind of space vampire.

“Call security!”

“I left my combadge at Data’s last night.” Geordi cringed.

“You _what_?!?” Q shrieked. His vision was starting to go fuzzy. His head was throbbing, and he generally felt as if a creature disguised as the man he was in love with had been feasting on his blood only moments ago. 

“Q, your _shoulder_!”

Q turned his neck slightly, and realised with a cry that there was a large chunk of exposed muscle by his collarbone that definitely wasn’t there before. Q stared at it in shock for a moment before his legs buckled underneath him and he collapsed to the floor, groaning. 

Geordi rushed to his side, ripping off his left sleeve as he did so. He held the fabric tightly against Q’s wound, but it soaked up with blood almost instantly.

The creature stood over them both, lips still stretched from cheek to cheek, teeth as white as ever. 

“It’s been a plea-”

It swayed for a moment, then fell sideways. Commander Riker was standing over it, holding a chair and looking completely horrified. 

“Did I just kill Captain Picard?” He whispered.

“Unless he’s secretly a blood-sucking alien I’d say you’re probably off the hook.” Geordi patted him on the back. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate you saving me,” Q murmured from the floor, “but I don’t feel brilliant.”

“Right.” 

Both Geordi and Riker held out their hands for him, and he accepted them gratefully.

“Let’s get you to sickbay, bud.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Q did need stitches this time, as after five uses of the dermal regenerator, the nurse to his right announced that he still looked “ready to serve for dinner”. Doctor Crusher also insisted that he stay overnight, and Q was more than happy to oblige. He’d had so many hypos stuck into him that he felt dizzy, and his head was throbbing. He was sure that if he could feel his neck it would hurt horrifically, but he was on an absurd amount of medication and was numb from jaw to chest.

Crusher let him go after sixteen hours of observation, and that was mainly because an Orion who came in after a very nasty accident in engineering needed all the resources they could find.

Q wandered back to his quarters feeling cold and a little itchy. Everytime anyone passed him in the corridors he’d jump away skittishly. He got a few sympathetic looks from ensigns and the like (news travelled pretty quickly on the ship), and when he reached his quarters Commander Riker was waiting for him. 

“If it makes you feel better, it’s happened to me before.” Riker said as soon as Q was close enough to hear him. “Well, not exactly the same thing. But I’ve had some experiences that were, uh, very much like it.”

Q frowned. “Are you about to do a heart-warming speech about comradery, and tell me that all experiences are good experiences?”

Riker shook his head, smiling. “I’m actually here to deliver a message from your young Vulcan friend.”

“Tal?”

Riker nodded. “Our little concert in Ten Forward is about to start. I’m assuming you’ll come?”

Q looked at Riker for a moment. He wanted to refuse. He just wanted to crawl into bed and hide underneath his blanket and never come out again. But Riker was clearly trying to say something to him, to apologise maybe, to extend an oak branch, or whatever that old saying was. Riker had every right to hate him, and yet, in his own way, he was apologising. And, most importantly of all, Tal wanted him there.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Lead the way, Commander.”  
\-----------------------------------------------

“Q!” Geordi waved him over as soon as he stepped through the doors. “How’re you feeling?”

“Shit.” Q admitted, taking the seat opposite his friend. “You?”

Geordi had a panicked look in his eyes that made Q sure he wasn’t the only one affected by what had happened the day before. 

“Scared, mostly. I’m probably deeply traumatised, and I didn’t even get bitten! This ship has had its fair share of crazy over the years. I honestly don’t know how we’d get by without Deanna.”  
Q nodded at that, feeling bad about how their last counseling session had gone. He made a mental note to apologise about it later. He was sure she understood, but still. The thought that he might have upset her made him uncomfortable.

Riker had now gotten up beside the piano, trombone in hand. He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.

“Good evening everyone. Today we have something very special, could you all please do you all do your very best is welcoming myself, Lieutenant Commander Data, and the young Tal. It’s our very first performance together, so I hope you enjoy yourselves and, please-” Riker broke off his introduction to smile over at Deanna “-go easy on us.”

The crowd clapped politely as Data took a seat at the piano, with Tal next to him holding her lyre. She looked completely calm, though Q was sure she would be at least a little nervous to be performing in front of so many people.

Data stood before his little group could begin playing. “Before we begin, I have been told that I should inform you we have made several small alterations to the original song. They include adding a Ka’athyra, and removing several contractions, as I am as of yet unable to pronounce them.” 

Data looked as if he were about to continue his speech, but his eyes darted over to the crowd, lingering on Geordi’s face for a moment. The engineer gave him an encouraging grin.

“We will now begin.” He announced, and took his seat at the piano once again.

The trio played a few Vulcan classics, an Andorian folksong, and a couple that Q wasn’t sure of the origin. Data stood up from the piano after a few more songs, and Q was sure that the little concert was over, but then the android picked up his violin, and Tal took his place at the piano.

“What’s going on?” Geordi whispered.

“I don’t know.”

Tal looked at Q, her ears tinted a shade greener than usual. “This song is dedicated to Q, who I am told was recently attacked by a creature disguised as Captain Picard?”

About fifty pairs of eyes turned in Q’s direction.

“He is my best friend.” She whispered into the mic, her hands shaking slightly. “I am very glad he is alive.”

The hairs on Q’s arms had stood straight up during Tal’s little speech, much to his confusion. Weren’t they supposed to do that when humans got cold? He wasn’t cold. He was...he wasn’t sure what he was, but the song was about to start, so he decided to think about it later instead.

The make-shift orchestra started up, Tal took a deep breath, her tiny fingers danced across the piano keys, she opened her mouth, and-

“ _Well, Saturday night at eight o’clock I know where I’m gonna go…_ ”

Q was speechless. Tal’s voice was completely different to the shy, hesitant one he thought it would be. It was strong and clear, full of the energy and passion, the song of someone who had their dreams a hair’s width away from being fulfilled.

And the song! It was so...so un-Vulcan that Q would have laughed had Tal not sounded like an angel.

“Wow.” Geordi murmured, and Q wasn’t sure if anyone would ever find a better word to sum up how he felt when he heard her sing. It was as if the sound of her voice was the only noise on the ship, it cut through the air like a knife through butter. 

Tal moved into the chorus, and Riker motioned for him to join them. Q hesitated for a moment, then stood, using the spare piano stool as leverage to sit atop the instrument itself (which earned him a fond roll of the eyes from Riker). He waited for them to start the second verse, then joined in.

“ _Well, there’s technicolour and cinemascope, a cast outta Hollywood…_ ” They sang in unison.

Q was sure his singing would have downgraded Tal’s performance by quite a bit, but nobody seemed to mind. In fact, more and more members of the crew had begun to join in with the song (it was pretty clear that none of them knew all the words to the song, but they were having fun and no-one complained).

“ _...but they never can compare to the girl sitting by my side…_ ”

Riker nudged Q, a grin on his face. Q’s eyes followed where he was pointing, and he almost fell off the piano in surprise. It was Jean-Luc, arms crossed, watching the display with a smile on his face. It was a warm smile, a friendly smile. His teeth were not too white. The smile belonged to him, belonged on his face. Q held up his hand in the smallest of waves, and Picard mirrored the gesture.

“ _Saturday night at the movies, who cares what picture you see, when you’re huggin with your baby in the last row in the balcony?_ ” Everyone in Ten Forward near-shouted (including Jean-Luc, to Q’s delight).

Riker launched into a solo on his trombone, which Deanna watched with an affectionate smile. Q was surprised how good he was (all the feedback he’d heard was from Deanna complaining about being woken up by her partner practising late at night). Data joined in with his violin for another round of the instrumental, and then both men stopped playing to join in with the final chant of the song’s chorus (which actually turned into the penultimate chant of the chorus, because some people still kept getting the words wrong), and the room descended into both laughter and applause when the song was finished.

“Tal, that was amazing!” Geordi grinned, his arm around Data. 

“You enjoyed our performance?” Tal said hopefully, shoes tapping on the legs of the piano stool.

“You guys were great! I really hope I get to see you sing again.”

“He enjoyed our performance!” Tal said, a huge smile on her face. She grabbed Q’s arm. “I am going to be a musician!” Tal announced. “Not an ambassador, a _musician_. A singer!”

“And a brilliant one at that.” Q agreed, hoisting Tal up onto the bar. “Let’s see if Guinan’ll allow us a celebratory sundae or two.”

Guinan rolled her eyes. “Ah, the mighty Q strikes again, with his hypnotic powers.” She slid two sundaes across the bar. “I hope they choke you.” 

“I’m glad to see you two are finally getting along.” Jean-Luc smiled, taking the barstool to Tal’s right. “May I shake the hand of our latest celebrity?” 

Tal looked confused for a moment, then held her hand out graciously. “You may shake my hand if you wish, but only because I am half Romulan. If you asked my mother the same question, you would no doubt be in a great deal of trouble.”

Jean-Luc raised his eyebrows. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Tal had apparently never shaken anyone’s hand before, as she just sort of moved her arm up and down. Jean-Luc must’ve eventually realised that Tal would just keep shaking his hand for hours, because he detached himself after about ten seconds.

“It seems you’ve made quite the impression.” Jean-Luc smiled, resting a hand on Q’s shoulder. “You know, I-”

Q flinched at the touch, then froze, mortified. 

Jean-Luc carefully withdrew his hand. “Q, I-”

“It’s alright.” Q knew what he was going to say. He didn’t need to hear it, he felt ridiculous anyway. He knew it wasn’t Jean-Luc that attacked him, but some part of his subconscious refused to listen to him. 

“Q, you have every right to be nervous around me.”

“I’m not nervous, I just-” Q took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I really, really don’t know. My stupid brain just thinks you’re going to attack me.”

“I understand. It’s not something you can control. If there’s anything you need just ask, Q.” Jean-Luc gave Q one last nod before disappearing back into the crowd. 

“But I need _you_.” He whispered, all the joy from only five minutes ago suddenly gone.

In that moment, he hated being mortal more than he ever had before. More than when he arrived the first time, confused and naked on the bridge, more than when he realised Guinan was onboard the _Enterprise_ , more than when he was attacked by that thing. His body was trying to protect him, yes, but in doing so it had made everything so much worse. 

“It’ll work itself out eventually.”

Q just stared at her.

“It always does.” She pulled a face. “Oh don’t look at me like that. This isn’t me confessing my undying love to you. We’re not friends, Q. I doubt we ever will be, realistically. ” Guinan shrugged, placing down the glass she had been polishing and started on another. “It’ll work out though, Q. It will.”  
\----------------------------------------------

After that Q had nightmares. Oddly enough they weren't of the creature that attacked him (Q had picked up far too many enemies over the year to worry about some blood-sucking alien), but of the distance that Jean-Luc had started to give him, and how long he would keep that distance up.

Tal must’ve sensed that Q was feeling helpless, as she spent a lot more time with him than usual over the next few days, to the point that Q began to feel as if he were living in a musical. Tal was always there, always singing, and always happy to help. 

Doctor Crusher had banned Q from the school for the week, and told him to rest. It turned out his version of “resting” involved sitting in Ten Forward with whichever of his friends was off duty, watching Tal as she learnt new songs or practised old ones or reenacted famous concerts with Will (Riker had insisted Q call him by his first name, to his surprise). Data diligently sat with her for a few hours a day and continued her piano lessons. 

Beverly had also banned Q from holding any more dance lessons, but Data didn't know that. That was why he was now scolding his friend for putting his hands in the wong place for the eight time.

“Data, it's left shoulder, right hip! Left shoulder, right hip. Remember? Especially don’t touch my right shoulder!! Space vampire, remember? Enormous, gaping wound?”

Q was exaggerating (his shoulder had nearly healed now, thanks to Beverly), but he always exaggerated (talking was a lot more fun that way, and people tended to listen to you more), so he was sure Data wouldn’t mind.

Data quickly withdrew his hand, placing it back on Q’s hip. “My apologies, Q. I was...preoccupied.”

“Oh?”

Data shook his head, quickly changing the subject. “How have you been finding your sessions with Counselor Troi?”

Q had been to visit the counselor a few times, but had found that he didn’t really have anything to say, so the sessions became social calls, and he found he enjoyed those much more. He enjoyed talking to people, enjoyed having friends.

But Data already knew all of that, which meant he was deliberately hiding something. 

Q frowned, suddenly concerned. He stepped back, releasing his friend's hands. “Data...why am I giving you dancing lessons?”

“I was under the impression you agreed to it.”

“Data, you know what I mean.”

“I have decided to ask Geordi to marry me.”

As clueless as Q usually was when it came to mortal traditions, he was well-versed on this one, having forced himself only a week earlier to look through the ship’s computers for any references after what he thought must’ve been a rather insulting conversation with an eight year old (“if you like Captain Picard so much, why don’t you marry him?” the child had said, to which Q had no immediate answer due to his lack of knowledge on the subject). 

“Data, that’s great! So, you’re practicing you dance already? Somebody’s confident.” 

“Ah.” Data’s face fell. “I realise there is a possibility he will reject me proposal, however-”

“He’ll say yes.” Q said confidently. 

For a moment Data looked as if he was going to object, to explain patiently to Q that there was only an eighty-four percent chance that Geordi would accept, but instead his friend nodded, a slight smile on his face. “Thank you, Q.”  
\------------------------------

“ _You take the grey skies out of my way_ ,” Tal hummed, “ _You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day_ …”

“You seem to have a preference for Earth music, _ko-fu_.” Tal’s mother commented. Not a question, but a statement.

Tal took it as a question, and answered it immediately. “Earth music tends to have no meaning, mother. I find it fascinating that one can sing about anything they desire.”

“I see. An understanding and acceptance of other cultures may come in handy when you are someday the ambassador of Vulcan, as will being a witness to today’s discussions.”

Q didn't hear Tal’s reply, as was only half-listening to their conversation, too nervous to think properly. Something about the day was wrong. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing at all tangible, but Q had felt a horrible sense of unease ever since he woke up. It was the final day of the diplomatic delegations, which meant Tal and her mother would be leaving in just a week. 

“Q, it’ll be fine.” Riker had assured him earlier. “It’s just the Vulcans and the Ta’orians, they’re both very peaceful races.”

Q had been so insistent that Riker had finally broken and allowed him to join himself, the Captain, Tal and the two ambassadors in the cargo bay. He even called for Worf and several other members of the security team to stand guard beside the doors, but drew the line there. This was where their group now stood, having just received the all-clear sign that told them the cargo bay was safe to use.

Q threw one last glance at the security team as the doors shut, separating them from the only people who might actually be any help in an emergency.

“I don’t understand why they can’t come in with us.”

Riker nudged him with his elbow, silencing him. “The Ta’orians are easily frightened, Q. And they’re incredibly superstitious. They are our guests, and we will cater to their needs. Besides, we don’t want them bolting halfway through the mission because of a dropped phaser.” He whispered.

“All is secure,” the Vulcan ambassador confirmed, “we may now begin.”

Tal’s mother bowed low to the Ta’orian ambassador, who did not return the gesture.

Instead, the Ta’orian pulled something from her overcoat. It looked to be the same size as a phaser, but was tube-shaped, and when it moved through the air it left a shower of sparks in its wake. Their group stared at it for a moment, either in confusion or shock, before anyone even thought to react.

“Everybody down!” Picard commanded. He reached for his combadge, but the Ta’orian turned the weapon in his direction and gave a warning hiss.

The majority of their group ducked beneath shuttlecraft and behind crates, with only Captain Picard and the Ambassador remaining standing. 

The Ta’orian turned the tube towards Tal’s mother, her eyes glowing a fiery red. “Perhaps you should be the first to go, Ambassador? After all, you feel no fear.” She snarled, turning the weapon in Tal’s direction. “Or perhaps it should be your daughter, the half-breed.”

Tal pushed herself closer against the crate, her eyes wide. Jean-Luc’s face was unreadable, but Q could see that his hands were shaking slightly. Jean-Luc caught his gaze and held it for a moment, shaking his head ever so slightly. Q ignored his warning and stood slowly, his arms stretched high above his head, and suddenly found the weapon inches from his nose. He breathed deeply, and tried to compose himself.

It didn’t really work.

“Now, let’s all just take a step back, alright?”

“No.”

Q stepped forward, ignoring his own earlier advice (very on-brand for him, really) and threw himself towards the attacker. He crashed into her knees, and the device went flying. The Ta’orian crumpled to the floor, apparently out cold.

Q stood triumphantly, swaying slightly. “Well, that was oddly easy.”

There was an intense ringing in his ears, the inside of his mouth had an odd, metallic tang to it. His legs wouldn’t work properly. Everybody was looking at him. They were...shocked? Scared?

“Guys,” he croaked, “I’m fine.”

He heard Jean-Luc’s worried voice and felt an intense, blinding pain up his right side before everything went dark.  
\-----------------------------------

“Easy there,” Doctor Crusher said warningly, “we don’t want that heart of yours stopping again.”

“Stopped?” Q frowned, his mouth struggling to keep up with what his brain wanted to say. “My heart stopped?”

“We lost you for a few minutes back there, yes. If the blast had hit your head, I doubt we would’ve got you back again. Luckily, it was aimed at the Captain’s head, so it just about clipped your shoulder. What was left of it, anyway.”

Q shook his head, struggling to make sense of the wave of information Beverly had just sent him. “I...got lost?” 

“Q…”She pulled back, and Q realised she had a dermal regenerator in her hand. “You died.”

Q was astounded. Clearly, mortal bodies were stronger than they looked. Perhaps his own was just as stubborn as its mind. He turned to ask Beverly more, but she was gone.

He head muffled voices, and strained to hear what was going on, but the only thing he caught was Beverly scolding someone.

“Jean-Luc?” Q said weakly. He tried to sit up, but his arms buckled under his weight, and his legs wouldn’t move at all.

Beverly came back alone, and shook her head. “Wait until you’re stronger, Q. You should feel a little better in a few hours. Maybe then you’ll be up to having visitors.”

“I can have them now.” Q huffed back, though he knew she was right. He felt like shit.

Beverly pressed a hypospray to his neck. “The effects should start to kick in soon.”

He squinted up at her, but his vision started to swim and he quickly had to look back down again. “Effects?”

“You’ll fall asleep.”

“But I don’t feel ti-”

\---------------------

When Q woke up, Geordi was by his bedside. He held a finger to Q’s lips before he could say anything.

“Geordi? You came to s-” Q couldn’t finish thanking his friend as he had clamped an entire hand over his mouth, so the rest of his energy was taken up with mumbling indignantly against La Forge’s fingers.

“Beverly’ll kill me if she knows I’m talking to you.” Geordi whispered. “I told her I was fixing a biobed.”

Q nodded, his eyes wide, and Geordi removed his hand. “Thank you.”

The engineer held up a bulky package wrapped in orange cloth. “Worf told me to give you this.”

“Worf? Worf gave me a present?”

Geordi rolled his eyes. “Well sure, you’re friends.”

“Worf’s my friend.” Q repeated.

“Last time I checked.” Geordi placed the parcel in his lap. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” Q nodded.

“Last time I saw you there was a shock big enough to fry a Selhat running through your heart.” 

Q looked up from unwrapping his gift. “They clearly don’t want me dead, then.”

“You think the Q intervened?”

“As much as I admire our dear Doctor Crusher, I doubt I would’ve survived otherwise.”

Geordi nodded in agreement. “Well, I’m very glad they stepped in. And so are lots of other people, I’m sure.”

Q finished removing the wrappings, and stared in confusion at the glowing, shifting mass before him. It was encased in a tear-drop shaped glass bottle filled with some sort of liquid, and was one of the most interesting things he’d ever seen.

“It’s a lava lamp,” Geordi explained, “and it’s solar powered so you don’t need to worry about Beverly scolding you for using too much energy.”

Q watched as the purple goo stretched back down to the bottom of the lamp, where it separated into several lumps that danced around each other for a moment before floating lazily back up to the top and merging again.

“Tell him it’s the greatest inanimate object the universe has produced,” Q declared, “and that’s including all types of hats.”

Geordi grinned. “Will do.”

If the lava lamp was still on Q’s bedside when Doctor Crusher returned to check Q’s heart rate later then it must’ve been just out of her eyeline, and if Geordi had been asleep in the chair beside Q’s bed she certainly didn’t see that either, as she would have had to report it in that in the CMO’s log, and there was no mention of either occurrence that day.  
\------------------------------

“The Captain’s here to see you, Mr. Q.” The skant nurse (who’s name was actually Rachel) winked at him.

Q looked up from watching his lava lamp to grin back at her. 

“Doctor Crusher tells me you’re allowed out today.”

“Jean-Luc!” Q scrambled to sit up properly as Picard approached his bed. “Yes, I’m feeling almost back to normal.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“So I can go back to entertaining the young minds of the Enterprise?” Q grinned. “Jean-Luc, you flatter me so!”

“Q…” 

Jean-Luc shook his head, looking slightly pained. Q held his breath, ready for some speech about mortality or trust or the power of words.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me?”

What?

“Tonight? 

_What?_

“In the holodeck, perhaps?”

“What?” Q half-laughed, unsure whether or not Jean-Luc was joking.

Picard straightened. “If you’d rather not I understand, of course-”

He looked nervous. He was nervous. He was worried Q was going to say no?!? The idea was so ridiculous that Q found himself unable to control his laughter. Jean-Luc looked concerned, and took another step back. Q shook his head slowly, an enormous smile on his face. 

“Of course I do, you idiot!” Q realised that he probably shouldn’t be talking to his date like that, and quickly corrected himself. “I mean...thank you, I’m looking forward to it. Yes. A very decisive yes.”

“Well,” Jean-Luc smiled, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening, Mr. Q.”

Q beamed back at him. Jean-Luc turned to leave, then stopped at the door. “One more thing before I go. Command have decided to award you the rank of ensign for your help. Which means-”

“-I’m allowed to wear a skant.” Q finished.

“Funnily enough, that’s not actually what I was going to say.”

Q motioned graciously for Picard to continue.

“You’re now allowed on the bridge.”

“Ah. Well, in that case maybe I’ll go up there some time, if I find a good enough reason to.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”  
\-----------------------------------------

“ _Ko-fu_ , we cannot wait forever.”  


“He will be here, Mother.” Tal insisted, though she was starting to worry that maybe he wouldn’t. Tal shifted anxiously on the transporter pad. Beverly hadn't allowed her to see Q, not even to say goodbye, and now she was beginning to think that the extent of his injuries were much worse than she’d been previously told. 

“Tal, we must leave now in order to be in time for the arrival of-”

“Wait!” Q appeared, red-faced and gasping. He held up a hand, bending over double in an attempt to catch his breath. “Just a second.”

“Q!” Tal rushed off the transporter pad. “Are you in need of medical attention?”

He waved her off, still wheezing. “I’m fine.” 

Tal stood a little straighter. “I appreciate the time you took in coming to say goodbye.”

The ambassador and her daughter waited patiently as Q had a small coughing fit. When Q’s body had recovered from its first run, he stood and removed his hat. “Yes, well I couldn’t let you go without looking your best now, could I?”

Tal smiled up at him, the beret now slipping slightly over her eyebrows as she did so. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“ _Ko-mekh_ , Mr. Q has kindly given me his hat. May I give him something in return?”

Tal’s mother inclined her head slightly, and Tal carefully removed the brooch from her lapel. She pressed it into Q’s palm, and he smiled gratefully, closing his fingers tightly around the gift.

“For luck, if you believe in such a thing.” She explained, before stepping back to stand beside her mother.

“Your daughter is very special, ambassador.” Q fancied Tal’s mother had given him the smallest of smiles just as the transporters activated, though he could’ve been imagining it.

Q heard footsteps behind him, and knew who it was without even turning his head. “Will she be back?”

Jean-Luc nodded, smiling warmly up at Q. “I’m sure of it.” 

Q stared down at the pin in his hand. A month ago he would have found it - a silver snake curled around on itself in an imitation of the symbol for infinity- a mockery at his mortality, but now it just reminded him of the possible life he could have. A life on the _Enterprise_ , travelling through uncharted space with his companions. His comrades. His _friends_. A life of adventure, of discovery. Maybe even a life with Jean-Luc, if dinner went well.

For the first time in his unimaginably long life, Q felt content. 

**Author's Note:**

> I partnered with Iluarts for this year's big bang. Seeing their artwork was definitely one of the highlights of writing this little (ish?) fic, so I urge you to check out their fabulous illustration of Q in his skant here: https://www.deviantart.com/iluarts/art/QCBB-2020-Over-to-Q-TNG-859333659, or visit their tumblr @bowie-star-trekking for more Qcard content.


End file.
